


Luck be a Lady

by Yellow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:18:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow/pseuds/Yellow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters are finally getting lucky, and not just with strangers in shady motel rooms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luck be a Lady

**Author's Note:**

> From my old FF.net account. welcome back to the pit, self

The first time it happens, Dean doesn't think anything of it. So the lights come back on for once. For the first time in forever, the power lines aren't cut. Awesome. Makes it that much easier for Dean to stab the demon sons of bitches in their hearts.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm here." Sam stands up from the corner of the room, and Dean sees him glance around. "Is it that really it?" he asks, and Dean shrugs.

"Guess so."

Sam looks wary, and Dean thinks he glances up to the ceiling, but Dean ignores it and just slaps Sam's shoulder.

"Come on, Sammy! Can't we have a good day once in a while?"

"We're Winchesters," Sam grumbles. "Of course not."

There's a few little things, after that. The Impala runs a few miles farther than it should on a tank of gas. They manage to find the only diner, in, like, the universe that has enough salads to make Sam's order a difficult choice. There's the time their drinks are free, too, but Dean likes to blame that on his devastating good looks. Still. The Winchesters are finally getting lucky, and not just with strangers in shady motel rooms.

Finally, though, Dean realizes there's something wrong.

They're hunting demons, and it's going like it always does: read, crappy. (The part where they succeed against all odds and win the day hasn't happened yet). Anyway, Dean's got his gun out and he's looking around for 'em, wherever they got to, and then he's being pushed into a kitchen table. Dean's head hits the corner with a loud thunk and he falls to the floor.

Dean's groggy, but he sees Sam standing over him like some kind of savior against the cheery yellow walls, and he sighs. Great. So this is how he's going to die. Lying on the floor of a kitchen straight out of Better Homes and Gardens with more than he ever needed to see of Sammy looming heroically above him.

"It's okay, Dean. I've got this." Sam narrows his eyes at the head demon, who's possessing the body of a kindly grandfather. It smiles. Dean shudders. Seriously creepy.

"Lucifer's vessel. How nice of you to deliver yourself to us."

Grandpa flings Sam against a wall and steps over Dean. Nice. Real nice. He takes Sam by the throat, his henchman standing behind him. Sam squirms in his grip, coughing and choking, then pulls out his gun and-

Dean's vision is going spotty, but he thinks he sees Sam's shot pierce not only the grandpa but the second demon too. The demons fly back in a way that's almost comical, and Sam stands. He makes quick work of them with his knife, and Dean just gapes from the kitchen floor.

"Dude, you alright?" Sam asks, pulling Dean up.

"Uh, I think I might have a concussion," he says. "Did you just take out two demons with one bullet?" Dean is clutching Sam's arm, trying desperately not to fall over.

"…Yes," Sam says.

"Oh. Okay," Dean says, and passes out.

 

***

 

He wakes up a while later in a motel room, Sam clacking away at his laptop.

"Dude, what?" Dean asks. Then he remembers the fight. "I have a concussion! How long was I out?"

"Nah, I checked. No concussion. Though I did wake you up every few hours just to be safe."

Dean sighs and rubs his forehead. "My head still hurts like a bitch. Got any painkillers?"

Sam tosses him a small white bottle without even looking.

Dean knocks back two, then coughs. "Okay. So, I really don't want to have to start this conversation with a headache, but it has to be done. Your gun, back there. What the hell."

"I don't know. We have been…lucky, lately." Sam kicks the leg of the motel desk and avoids Dean's eyes.

"Sam. You know something, or else you'd be freaking out too. What happened to not keeping secrets?" Dean's pissed, and Sam sighs.

"I think it's Gabriel."

Dean starts laughing, and Sam glares at him. Dean slowly sobers up, and a weight settles in his stomach. "Gabriel? Let-me-trap-you-in-a-sadistic-time-loop Gabriel? Why the hell would he want to help us?"

Sam raises his chin and pouts, but he blushes. He blushes. Dean is obviously not drunk enough for this conversation.

"Wait…you and Gabriel? Sam, what the hell? Are you guys fucking?"

"No!" Sam yells. "He just…comes to me in my dreams sometimes."

Dean desperately wants to tease Sam about that one, but, you know. Cas. So instead Dean focuses on Sam's blush, spreading now to the tips of his ears.

"So you're not fucking, but you want to be."

Sam says nothing.

"Oh my God, Sam! He's an archangel! A twisted, twisted son of a bitch if he was human, but an archangel!" Dean wonders what the people in the adjacent rooms think of this argument.

Sam explodes, half embarrassment, half anger. "Like you have any room to talk! How's Cas doing, lately?"

Dean's (already fried) brain short circuits. "That's completely different!"

"How so?" Sam asks. "In the way he's an angel, the way he helps out from time to time, the way you want him…?" Sam raises a very telling eyebrow.

Dean sees the eyebrow and ignores it. Stupid eyebrow. He's still bristling at the implication that he wantsssss Cas, like he's some Victorian heroine or something. Cas is just an awesome dude, and if Sam wants to question his intentions or any of that, he'll just have to-

"Wait. So you do 'want' Gabriel!"

Sam blushes even harder. Dean can see his ridiculous brain working, trying to find ways out of the accusation, and he can pinpoint the moment when it gives up.

"You are never living this down!" Dean crows, and Sam buries his head in his arms.

"Just wait," Sam says, muffled but still pure evil, "until I call Cas and tell him you're suffering from a rare curse that only long and plentiful hugs can cure."

Dean gapes. "You wouldn't."

Sam smiles and whips out his fancy girl phone. "Hey, Cas?"

Dean tackles him.

 

***

 

One fight and a very confused angel later-"you're sure you're alright? I heard yelling"-Dean and Sam are sitting comfortably on their beds, watching TV.

"Y'know," Dean says, and isn't he just the best big brother in the universe. "Gabriel's not so bad. When he's helping us."

Sam leans back and shoots Dean a smile. "Good, because that salad I had last week? Fucking fantastic."


End file.
